


no lights, no camera

by strictlybecca



Category: As the World Turns
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Making Out, and that's it.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-03
Updated: 2017-01-03
Packaged: 2018-09-14 08:59:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9172177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strictlybecca/pseuds/strictlybecca
Summary: Luke and Noah make out. (Yep, that's it.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> previously posted [here](http://luke-noah.livejournal.com/984737.html) at the [luke_noah](http://luke-noah.livejournal.com/) comm on LJ as @[thebeccaroo](http://the-beccaroo.livejournal.com/) in 2009. reposted here with minor edits.
> 
> figured i might as well bring this lil fic on over xoxox

The truck purrs gently beneath their feet, old but reliable and still idling in the driveway. Noah slouches against the driver side door, door handle pressing uncomfortably into the small of his back – though he can’t really give a damn about that right now. Luke is stretched out over him – thank God for the truck’s ancient bench seats – all lean lines and delicious weight. The scene is set, though not the one anticipated.

“We do have an apartment,” Noah pants, Luke’s lips on his jaw, mouthing aimlessly. “That we c-could…” Noah trails off as Luke’s lips travel to his ear, uncertain of where he had been going with that thought.

Luke licks his lips – just a little – and Noah’s eyes are immediately drawn to them, wet and the slightest bit bruised. Something out of the movies they can’t show before ten.

“Hmm…” Luke hums, sounding as if he were vaguely considering the notion, which Noah hopes isn’t the case because for the life of him he can’t remember what he had even been talking about. “I suppose,” he murmurs, hot breath scraping over Noah’s collarbone, slightly chapped lips grazing his Adam’s apple. Noah can feel where every inch of Luke is pressed up against him, heavy and warm and real. “But necking like teenagers in your truck sounds like so much fun.” A cliché has never sounded so good.

Noah huffs a laugh against Luke’s lips that have finally – finally! – returned to his own. Noah impatiently draws him in, ducking his head just slightly as Luke leans up, both hunting to find the angle they long ago perfected. Luke’s hands fly to Noah’s face before sliding to his shoulders, squeezing briefly for a moment before finally finding purchase in Noah’s shirt. He is clutching a little desperately, but that’s just fine with Noah, whose hands have buried themselves in Luke’s ridiculously soft hair with little say from Noah’s own brain.

The kisses had started out chastely, Luke muttering horribly untrue things about Noah’s tendency to glare ferociously at any of the aggressively flirty waiters who seem to be drawn like moths to Luke when they're out together. “False,” Noah had muttered back between Luke’s soft kisses. “Lies, every one.” Luke had snorted slightly, letting his lips linger against his boyfriend’s, no lights, no camera, but action.

The kisses have developed into something else now though, deepening at Noah’s silent request. He licks gently at Luke’s bottom lip and Luke lets out the soft, encouraging noise that Noah hears in his dreams sometimes and parts his lips to let Noah in. Noah’s hands drift down Luke’s chest, caressing lightly as they go. His hands stop only when they reach the point where Luke’s shirt has been rucked up slightly, revealing one of Noah’s favorite parts of Luke’s body. The soft strip of skin there has been both a bane and a blessing to Noah’s peace of mind over the years. 

Once upon a time it taunted, appearing when Luke’s beautifully wide shoulders stretched his too-thin striped shirts just the slightest bit too much, or when Luke gestured a little too vehemently when arguing, eyes bright with passion. That strip of skin has haunted Noah, forcing his imagination into overdrive at night alone in bed – black and white dreams spiraling into brilliant Technicolor. He had wondered what it would be like to brush his fingers against the soft skin there, press kisses along it, leave a mark there – a not so subtle claim on the beautiful boy who would never be his.

Once upon a time (a little later than the previous time, but after much trial and tribulation), when Noah was finally allowed to draw his fingers against that little slip of skin, when Luke was finally his to hold and his to mark, the piece of skin fueled many a late night session of wondering. Noah spent weeks in quiet contemplation of the patch of skin, eyes drawn to it no matter where he and Luke were. It was his spot and something fiercely possessive in Noah took great pleasure in knowing his were the only lips that had even graced that bit of skin.

Now, Noah’s fingertips dance gently along the silky smoothness there, grazing over the warm skin at the dip of Luke’s spine, drawing half-formed swirls and stars and dipping slightly below the waist of Luke’s jeans. He rests them there for a moment before running his hands up beneath Luke’s shirt, over the warm expanse of Luke’s back, tugging him closer until there is no space for even a breath to float between them.

“Love you,” Luke moans, when Noah’s lips break from his and trail down his neck to bite and lick away the soft sting. His hands scrabble for a place to hold on to as Noah decides to mouth a mark onto the crease between neck and shoulder, biting and soothing alternately, the gentle scrape of teeth against skin almost more than Luke can bear. He whimpers, another sound Noah files away to play on loop for all eternity, loving when Luke loses his precious words and all that remain are pure, artless sounds of satisfaction.

“Love you,” Noah replies a moment later, admiring his handiwork for a brief second before drawing his gaze up to Luke’s. His brown eyes are dark with something that makes Noah’s stomach clench in the very best way. Noah is hopelessly in love with this man pressed against him – every bashful smile, every silly voice, every stupid, noble deed, every ridiculous and brilliant idea – head over heels, ass over ears, beyond all reason and logic _in love_. He has known from the very first second that to love Luke and be loved in return is all he would ever need.

So he kisses him. He curls his right hand against Luke’s neck, a solid, steady heartbeat beneath his fingers. His left hand laces with Luke’s right, fingers sliding together like no puzzle Noah has ever known and everything like a piece of perfection. Luke hums appreciatively and lightly draws his nails against the nape of Noah’s neck, nudging the fingers of his left hand just under his collar and settling there, a light reminder. He nips lightly at Noah’s bottom lip before pushing closer. Noah’s mouth feels hot and bruised against Luke’s as if they've been kissing for days and weeks, wet and slick as their lips glide over each other, tasting slowly, savoring one another.

When Noah begins pulls away, Luke follows the kiss, unwilling to break apart even for a breath. Noah feels like that too but sometimes he is far too full of Luke – where every thought and breath and beat of his heart whispers _Luke_ – and he needs a moment to reorient himself in a universe where there is more than beautiful brown eyes and brilliant smiles. He regrets pulling apart every single time and moments later, he dives back in to his world of stubborn gazes, pretty pouts, and happy endings.

He’s quite content to do this forever, lingering kisses and hot, heavy breathing. Luke seems to be right on track with this plan when someone’s phone rings. Luke starts in surprise and Noah swears colorfully under his breath. “Why?” Noah asks, raising his eyes to the roof of the truck. “Why me?” Luke laughs, though it is more breath than sound at this point.

“I’ll get it later,” Luke promises, his eyes promising more. “But we should probably continue this at home.” Noah can’t help the smile that comes at the word _home_ , even as he wonders if the two minute drive and five minute ride in the elevator is really worth moving from this spot which he has grown to love – painful door handle and all. But Luke is giving him The Look and so our intrepid heroes ride off into the sunset, hands and hearts linked.

And the credits roll.

**Author's Note:**

> so apparently i wrote this at the very start of my freshman year of college, which makes me feel ancient, but it's not worst thing i've ever read/written, so hey howdy hey, here we are.
> 
> let me know what you think, even if this is ancient history to you!


End file.
